If
by Spider Baby-Firefly
Summary: "I was just thinking, Mr. Wordsmith, of how I would kill you, if I were the murderer." Ciel, Arthur, and midnight mysteries. Mild Ciel/Arthur.


**I read the (epic) murder mystery arc in the manga last night, and this fic...just happened. I loved how Ciel was so obviously flirting with Arthur (Conan Doyle!) It was so awesome and adorable, I just had to write something with them, and OF COURSE it would have to be when they were handcuffed in the bed. That whole scene is just fangirl bait, and I'm taking it =D**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Ciel, Arthur, Kuroshitsuji, or Earl Grey's incredibly convenient chains. *sight**

**Please enjoy, and leave a review!**

**OoO**

"Mr. Wordsmith, Mr. Wordsmith, wake up..."

Earl Ciel Phantomhive's voice, hushed and urgent, broke through Arthur's sleep-clogged brain. He thought perhaps the boy had had a nightmare—not surprising given the circumstances—or been frightened by the thunder and lightening outside. As he woke, Arthur felt a surge of pity for the boy beside him, and a separate surge of anger for the guests occupying the rest of the mansion. Honestly, for them to implicate a child in the murder... It was cowardice. Ciel Phantomhive was, despite all else, a child, and he was likely more traumatized by the night's events than his pride allowed him to let on. It was true that Ciel was the only one in the estate without an alibi, but surely there was some other explanation...

"Are you alright?" Arthur asked gently, blinking through the darkness to focus on the young Earl's face. To his surprise, Ciel was smiling.

"I was just thinking," Ciel murmured, heavy dark lashes drooping over his one oceanic eye, "of how I would kill you, if I were the murderer."

Arthur shuddered involuntarily. There was something very frightening about the Earl just then, something not quite right...unnatural. Morbid curiosity prompted him to whisper, "How?"

"Well," Ciel began conversationally, "without meaning to, Mr. Grey left me with a perfectly usable weapon." With some effort, the boy held up his manacled wrist, causing the chain to whisper across the sheets and tug Arthur's own bond. Ciel smiled in a way that would have been charming under other circumstances. "I would wait until you were sleeping, then I would strike you on the back of the head with my cuff. You probable wouldn't die, but you would at least knocked out. I'd do it over and over until you stopped breathing."

A cold sweat had broken out on Arthur's body. He could scarcely believe what he was hearing. Ciel was turned toward him, half visible and half buried in pillows and shadows. In his white dressing gown, the young Earl looked like a cherub on a Christmas card-an angel whispering the most devilish things.

"After that, I'd find something to pick the lock on my chains, and I suppose I'd move on to my next victim" Ciel was going on, sapphire eye burning into Arthur's, "or maybe I wouldn't have to. If I were the murderer, I would have at least one of my servants assisting me, most likely I'd have all of them." The boy's eye flashed. He'd been inching closer and closer to Arthur, like a little girl whispering secrets at a slumber party. His voice, with it's childish cadence, became more and more excited, insistent, obtaining an almost hypnotic quality. "Just think, Mr. Wordsmith! As we speak, the other guests are being killed in their beds. Right now, you may be the last one still alive."

"Oh God...You can't talk like that, Earl, you can't..." Arthur was shivering now; Ciel's one visible eye, alight with that unnatural cerulean glow, seared into Arthur and chilled him to the bone like cold fire. Beside it, the black void of the cloth eye-patch. Their foreheads were touching now; Arthur could feel Ciel's button nose bump his.

Then...Ciel laughed. Liquid innocence pouring from the boy's mouth and shattering on the floor in broken shards of invisible light. The child pulled away, settling back on his own pillow as his expression softened and that fearsome shine faded from his eye.

"Don't look so frightened, Mr. Wordsmith. I'm only messing with you."

Relief washed over Arthur in waves. "That's a terrible sort of joke, Earl!"

Ciel tried to look repentant, but succeeded only in looking amused. "Whoever says I don't have a sense of humor is wrong. It's just...a bit different."

"Earl..." Arthur frowned; he'd just thought of something.

"Hm?" Ciel prompted, yawning like the sleepy child he seemed to have reverted back to.

"Why did you invite me, really?" Arthur demanded, puzzling his own question out, "I've never met you before tonight. You knew all of the other guests personally, except for Mr. Von Siemens, and he's..."

"Dead?" Ciel finished, then chuckled. "You have nothing to worry about, Mr. Wordsmith. If I did in fact have a list of victims, you would be the last person on it. All of my other guests were invited for purely strategic reasons—I actually dislike every one of them—but you..." Ciel shrugged, "It's just as I said before. I read your story in the paper and was impressed by your writing. Not much impresses me. I wanted to meet you."

"I wish you wouldn't say such things," Arthur shook his head, "I'm simply an eye doctor who wastes time writing stories. I'll only disappoint you, I'm sure."

"Not at all," Ciel smiled angelically. "The game has only just begun, but I think I'll find that my interest in you was justified." With his free hand, Ciel reached up to touch Arthur's face, ghosting his slender fingers over the young man's cheek. "Mr. Wordsmith, you are so very fascinating."

Instinctively, Arthur leaned into the feather-light touch. When Ciel broke off contact, Arthur regretted the loss. He was remembering how Ciel had spoken to him early that evening—cordial and mature, yet earnest and a bit wry—and then how young and lost Ciel had seemed before getting into bed, how sad the boy had looked reminiscing about childhood and his deceased parents, and finally how uncanny Ciel had acted while playing his cruel joke just moments before. Who, Arthur couldn't help but wonder, was the real Ciel?

"And you, Earl Phantomhive," Arthur whispered at last, "are a mystery."

A tiny, inscrutable smile tugged up the corners of Ciel's mouth before the boy turned over, showing Arthur his slim, white-outfitted back. "Good night, Mr. Wordsmith. I'm sorry to have troubled you."


End file.
